We said goodbye and after I had stuffed everything back into my drawer, I trudged downstairs wishing Adam and I could talk about our disappointments as readily as we used to talk about our dreams, but we didn’t seem to be able to. Or perhaps it was that we didn’t want to. Afraid of what we’d say. Afraid of what we’d hear. Did he blame me? He must have and I just couldn’t bear to listen to him say that he did. Still, as I headed towards the kitchen I vowed that I would make an effort. Instead, I found myself snapping, ‘Did you get the bits I asked you to from Tesco?’ My eyes scanned the kitchen for shopping bags.

‘Fuck. No. Sorry. Bad day. I—’

‘Every day seems to be a bad day.’ I bit back and I knew that tonight wouldn’t be the night for meaningful conversations. Again.

‘Hello to you too.’ Adam turned his back on me and washed his hands at the sink before flicking on the kettle. I crossed my arms, waiting for him to realize he’d forgotten the milk.

‘One thing. I asked you for one thing,’ I said, trying to hold back the tears that had gathered. We both knew I wasn’t talking about the shopping and I knew I should stop goading him but my hormones were all over the place, my period was due, and I couldn’t help myself. I shouldn’t have looked at our baby things. Again I wondered whether we should try IVF but I was so scared that it wouldn’t work and equally scared that it would. Often I tried to recapture the feeling I used to have whenever I had looked at Adam in those early, heady days, but the boy from the bar had slipped through my fingers and in his place was this helpless man standing before me who looked so tired.

‘Anna, it’s not my fault…’

‘It never is, Adam.’

‘Not everything is.’ His eyes met mine. ‘But no matter what I do, I can’t seem to make you happy.’

‘Well then, you should leave. That would make me happy.’ I wiped my hand across the back of my mouth. The spiteful words I’d spoken in shame had left a bitter taste as they spewed from my lips. ‘Sorry.’ I couldn’t look him in the eye. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

I stepped into his open arms. This was the way it went. We fought and then we made up. It was exhausting.